


Ghosts of the Past

by CMBYN_Obsessed



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M, New York City, canon but not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMBYN_Obsessed/pseuds/CMBYN_Obsessed
Summary: What would have happened if Oliver had been called away from Italy before midnight, before the berm... even before their visit to Sirmione? Would he and Elio still eventually find their way back to each other?
Relationships: Elio Perlman/Oliver
Comments: 214
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PeachyPerfect (tomssweetheart)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomssweetheart/gifts).



> New Eliver fic! Please be kind, and enjoy! Short first chapter, but more to come soon.
> 
> This fic is dedicated to Peachyperfect for always being there for me during these last few trying weeks <3

Chapter One

**_April 1986, Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York_ **

Elio rushed into the restaurant kitchen to grab the order that had been waiting for several minutes already, praying that it wasn’t cold.

“Elio, you have another order almost ready here. You have to move faster!” Peter, the head chef, said with exasperation.

Elio gave an apologetic nod, then turned to hurry back to the dining room with the plates in hand. It was his second week at this job and, so far, it wasn’t going well. Elio was finally used to the breakneck pace of New York City in his second year at NYU, but it still didn’t come natural to him to hustle all the time. He was a contemplate-and-savor kind of person, which wasn’t compatible with being a server in a busy Manhattan Italian restaurant.

He thought for the tenth time just that day that perhaps he wasn’t well-suited for this job. He dropped off the plates for the elderly couple with an apology and what he hoped was a winning smile, then turned to hurry back to the kitchen. His friend Jonah stopped him with a hand on his upper arm before he had taken a step.

“Elio, you need to get the drink order from that couple at table six. They’ve been waiting for a while.” Jonah said this to Elio softly, not wanting to call attention to the fact that Elio’s customers were getting impatient. He was Elio’s closest friend at Mario’s and had saved him from irate customers on several occasions.

“Thanks, man. I’ll go now,” Elio answered, taking an order pad out of his apron pocket. He headed to the table where he could see the young, attractive couple in profile from across the restaurant. The woman had long brunette hair and an elegant profile, and she was looking around the dining room with an annoyed expression. Her date was very well-dressed and seemed more patient. He… 

Elio stopped short several yards from the table, his sudden recognition of the man causing Elio to freeze with shock. It had been almost three years since Elio had last seen him, but the details of his face held a permanent place in Elio’s memory bank. _You never forget your sexual awakening,_ Elio thought wryly.

_Oliver Weiss_. He had only stayed with the Perlman family for a week in the summer of 1983, but he had made the strongest impression possible on 17-year old Elio. A flood of memories from those 7 days appeared in Elio’s mind: all of the times Elio had stared shamelessly at Oliver; all the pretentious remarks he had made, trying so hard to seem smart in front of Oliver; the many afternoons he had paraded around in front of Oliver shirtless, hoping to get his attention. He had made a grade-A jackass of himself. Oliver had steadfastly ignored Elio ( _as well he should have_ , Elio thought miserably), and then, just as suddenly as he had appeared in Elio’s life, he was gone.

_I can’t face him now_ , Elio realized. Oliver would most likely not even recognize him after three years, but Elio just couldn’t deal with the possibility of an awkward encounter. He spun on his heels and saw Jonah a few tables away. He rushed over and grabbed his arm.

“Jonah, I need a huge favor from you. I need you to take table six for me,” he pleaded.

Jonah paused only a moment before nodding. “I will, but you owe me. I need to hear an entire explanation when work is over.”

Elio resisted rolling his eyes, thanking Jonah profusely before heading back to the kitchen. He would find a way to beg off that later. In the meantime, he had another order that was probably already cold. 

*****

11pm finally rolled around. The restaurant closed and the last group of drunk, boisterous customers paid their bill, pulled on their coats, and slowly made their way out the door. Elio sighed in relief. His shifts hadn’t gotten much easier since he had started, and he wondered how much longer he could last at this job. He didn’t need the money to live--his tips were really just providing him with extra spending money—but he liked the feeling of making his own cash. Just maybe not at _this_ particular job.

Elio went to work bussing his last table. As he worked, he let his mind drift back to earlier that night, when Oliver had still been at the restaurant with his date. Jonah had generously taken over their table for Elio, but Elio had still managed to get a few more glimpses of Oliver throughout the night without being seen.

Elio had to be honest with himself. Oliver looked even better (and quite a bit older) than Elio remembered. His hair was longer and darker, and instead of short-shorts and a t-shirt, he was wearing a well-tailored Oxford shirt and dark trousers. He was, no lie, stunningly handsome. Elio longed to be able to see him up close and just drink him in, as he had three years ago.

After just a few quick glimpses of Oliver, it was as if Elio was 17 again. The suave, experienced 20-year-old that he fancied himself to be had disappeared--walked right out of the building the moment he caught sight of Oliver. Elio was honestly embarrassed for himself, and he shook his head in mild disgust as he placed the last dirty plate onto the tray to take into the kitchen.

He looked over at table six, imagining that Oliver was still there, but picturing himself seated across the table from him rather than the mystery brunette. Something small and rectangle caught his eye on the ground underneath what had been Oliver’s chair.

Elio wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to table six, squatting down to check on the object. It was a driver’s license. Elio picked it up and turned it over. A solemn looking Oliver stared back at him from the corner of the card. Elio’s heart started to beat a bit faster as he realized what he had in his possession. He told himself that he should just turn it in to Paul, the manager, but he couldn’t stop looking at it.

_Oliver Weiss. 102 W. 85_ _ th  _ _Street, Apt. 2G._

Elio stared a few seconds more at the tiny picture of Oliver’s serious mug, then slid it into his back pocket, intent on turning it in immediately to Paul. He turned back to his tray, eager to finish up for the night.

“Excuse me, I think I may have dropped my driver’s license somewhere in your restaurant. Could I take a look around before you lock up?”

Elio’s stomach dropped at the familiar voice directly behind him. Deep, smooth, with a touch of a New England accent. Elio was stuck; he had nowhere to hide. He turned to face Oliver with an overwhelming mix of fear and dread.

He kept his head tilted down. He knew he looked quite different than the 17-year old kid who had followed Oliver around like a puppy-dog three years ago. His hair was longer, his jawline was more defined. He had filled out… well, not a lot, but some.

“I found it under the chair, sir.” Elio reached into his jeans and slid the small piece of plastic out of the back pocket. “Here you go.”

He handed the card over to Oliver, not looking him in the eye. He could feel Oliver’s taking him in, giving him a once-over. He resisted the urge to glance up.

Oliver took the license wordlessly and just as Elio thought that he might be off-the hook, Oliver said, “Are you… Elio Perlman?”

Elio finally looked up, immediately becoming lost in the crystal blue of Oliver’s eyes. He had forgotten the power that Oliver’s gaze seemed to have on him and it took a moment for Elio to regain his power of speech.

“I am.” He considered for a moment playing dumb and pretending not to recognize Oliver, but ultimately decided that he was not a strong enough actor to pull off such an obvious ruse. “Oliver, right?”

A grin spread across Oliver’s face. “Yes! Wow, it’s really good to see you, Elio. After… what it is? Almost three years? How are your parents?”

“They’re well. They are in Milan at the moment. I'll let them know that I saw you. They'll be thrilled.” Elio marveled at his ability to play it cool with Oliver when internally, he was a quaking mess.

“Yes, please. Are you going to school here in New York?”

Elio nodded. “I’m studying comparative literature at NYU. I’m in my second year there.”

Oliver’s smile grew even wider. “That’s amazing, Elio. I would love to catch up sometime. Maybe we could…”

“Elio, are you ready to go?”

Hannah, Mario’s hostess and Elio’s girlfriend was suddenly at his side, wrapping her arm around Elio’s waist, interrupting the mens’ reunion. Elio was annoyed at her appearance, and then immediately felt guilty at his irritation.

Oliver took a step back from the couple. “I’m sorry, Elio. You must want to get out of here. It was really good to see you. Tell your parents hello for me.”

Elio felt Oliver’s unfinished invitation vibrate through him and he longed to reach out to Oliver, to make him finish his thought. Instead, he simply nodded politely.

“Good to see you, too, Oliver.” And then he watched Oliver turn and walk out of his life for a second time.

***** 

Once outside the restaurant, Oliver took a moment to recover from the unexpected encounter. He had rarely thought of Elio Perlman in the last three years. When he did, it was with a pang of guilt at the feelings that had been brewing in the week he had spent trying not to stare at the boys’ glistening bare skin or his petal soft lips.

When Oliver had been called away back to the States that summer by the news of his father’s heart attack (and his eventual passing), he had been able to pack away his inappropriate feelings for the underage boy in a box deep in his subconscious. It was only very rarely that a certain image, scent, or sound—fresh apricots or an overheard conversation in Italian—would forcefully transport him back to that week in Italy. It had taken on an almost mythical, magical quality in Oliver’s mind: his Italian summer that was aborted too soon. He would recall the villa and the pool, his time with the Prof, those games of poker with the locals… and then his thoughts would invariably lead to Elio. Elio with his talented hands and sarcastic remarks; his chaotic curls and his soulful eyes. What would have become of the two of them? Would Oliver have spent the summer trying to avoid and resist the boy? Or would he have eventually have given in? He would never know, which was probably for the best.

But now, like a spirit from the past, he was suddenly right in front of Oliver. The boy who Oliver had successfully pushed into his subconscious was now a beautiful man. The same Elio… yet not. Oliver wanted to know him, to see how he had changed, and how he was the same.

And then the girl had appeared, claiming Elio as her own.

“Oliver, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." Rebecca, Oliver’s ex-fiance and best friend who had been waiting outside, walked over to him with a concerned expression.

Oliver looked down at his driver’s license and nodded. “I kind of just did.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback to the summer of 1983. How did Elio and Oliver get to that night in the restaurant? See how it all started, and what happened to keep them apart...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please humor my love of flashbacks and flash-forwards! 
> 
> Thank you to my readers who have stuck with me during this stressful time. I see each of you and I appreciate each of you, now more than ever <3
> 
> Thank you to my beta-reader, @hendricksplease, for her suggestions and edits!

**_Summer 1983, Somewhere in Northern Italy_ **

****

Elio heard the crunch of gravel as his father’s car pulled up in front of the villa, and he eagerly rushed to the window to have a first look at their new summer guest. He had had a say in choosing this _Oliver_ , yet he still wasn’t sure what to expect—a picture could be deceiving. But the goliath of a man who climbed out of the family Fiat exceeded every image Elio had been crafting of Oliver in his mind since helping to choose him last December. Elio was immediately captivated, and a bit intimidated.

Later that evening, Elio’s attempt at distracting himself from the sleeping man in the next room with his music transcriptions was frustratingly futile. He pulled off his headphones every few minutes to listen for sounds of life from the neighboring bedroom, but was met with nothing but Oliver’s soft snores each time. Hours slowly shuffled by until Elio’s boredom and simmering anticipation were finally relieved by the sound of Mafalda ringing the dinner bell.

“We’re being called for dinner,” he announced loudly.

No response.

Elio knocked softly, then cracked opened the door to take a peek at their guest who was still in the same position Elio had left him: splayed face-down across the twin bed, fast asleep. Elio took a moment to marvel at the length of him--at the width of his shoulders and the curve of his ass. An unfamiliar pang of emotion shot down Elio’s chest landing somewhere south of his stomach, which further irritated him.

Elio ignored the nagging voice of his conscious telling him to let Oliver slumber, reminding him that he was jet-legged and exhausted and that a good host would let him sleep as long as he needed. No, Elio was sick of waiting and decided to take matters into his own hands, dropping a heavy book onto the floor to startle Oliver awake.

Oliver woke only long enough to turn down Elio’s invitation to dinner, leaving him feeling rejected and embarrassed. He left the room in a huff of anger.

*****

The next day, Elio returned to his temporary bedroom late in the afternoon, after having spent the bulk of his day with Oliver. He threw himself onto his tiny bed, trying to arrange the tiny pieces Oliver had revealed of himself as they relaxed in the Piazza del Duomo into a more complete picture. However, Oliver had been stubbornly evasive, only gifting partial, disjointed glimpses of himself to Elio--and mostly things that Elio already knew. Anytime Elio would stumble upon something of substance, or ask a question that could be revealing, Oliver would smoothly change the subject. And then, just as Elio was starting to feel a little more comfortable with Oliver, he was gone with barely a word. Well, actually… exactly one word.

_"Later._ ”

That one word, and then he was off, leaving Elio feeling strangely off-kilter.

To try and satisfy his blossoming curiosity about Oliver, Elio pushed open the door separating their two rooms and inventoried Oliver’s things. His possessions were already unpacked and neatly organized, and boringly impersonal. Books, clothing, stationary, a fancy fountain pen set.

Elio grunted with dissatisfaction and closed the door.

*****

“Elio, why don’t you go down to the river with your friends? You haven’t seen them in days,” Annella lightly scolded Elio over lunch on the patio one afternoon.

It was true. Elio had stayed close to home these last several days. He told himself that he just didn’t feel like going out, but in reality, it was to keep tabs on Oliver. If Oliver was in his room, Elio would feel the urge to take a nap. If Oliver was in “heaven” writing, Elio would suddenly grow warm and have the desire for a swim. If Oliver was working with his father in the study, Elio would decide that it was time to practice his piano.

And if Oliver was out, Elio would wander the house impatiently, waiting for his return.

Elio willfully refused to consider why he was doing any of these things, instead focusing on his irritation with Oliver. It was easier to be annoyed with him than to examine his true feelings. Resentment at Oliver monopolizing all of Samuel’s time; embarrassment at how his mother and Mafalda fawned all over Oliver, as if he were a visiting celebrity; and most of all, disgust at how Marzia and Chiara flirted so blatantly with Oliver last time they were over. And how much Oliver seemed to like it.

_Oliver._

_Where was he, anyway?_

Elio chugged down his glass of juice and pushed his chair away from the table. “Vado a leggere in camera mia ( _I’m going to go read in my room_ ),” he replied sullenly to him mother, not answering her question. 

Elio returned to the house just as Oliver was coming in the front door.

“Elio, we’re starting a volleyball game in the backyard in a few minutes. Why don’t you join us?”

Elio’s rolled his eyes, annoyed that Oliver was inviting him to a volleyball game in his own backyard.

“I don’t play volleyball,” he answered, unable to keep the pout from his voice.

Oliver shrugged, turning to leave. “Well, come watch then. It’ll be fun.”

Elio followed Oliver’s retreat down the hall towards the terrace with his eyes, then sighed with resignation and followed him outside. If Oliver was going to play volleyball, then of course Elio would be on the grass, watching.

*****

A few hours later, Elio was lying on his back across his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling, his body a cyclone of warring emotions. The spot on his shoulder where Oliver had massaged him still tingled, and Elio violently ricocheted between humiliation at the way Oliver manhandled him in front of all his friends, and another, more complicated feeling-- the relentless desire for more. To feel Oliver’s hands on him again, but this time not stop at his shoulders and back. He wanted Oliver to squeeze and rub and caress his entire body. _All of it_.

Elio’s cock was throbbing and filling, alarming Elio somewhat. He had never had an erection over a man before. Was it wrong? He reached down to squeeze his now rock-hard member. It felt so good, Elio decided that he didn’t care if it _was_ wrong. He slipped his hand into his bathing suit and began to slowly tug at his cock. His other hand lightly caressed his stomach, his chest, across his nipples. He thought of Oliver in his bathing suit, his chest glistening with suntan lotion. He thought of Oliver’s legs—powerful and long and golden brown—and his ass, round and tight. Elio’s hand began to move faster inside his bathing suit.

Oliver. _OliverOliverOliver._

With a soft cry, Elio spilled his seed all over his hand. The relief was short-lived though, quickly overtaken by anger that Elio would have to live with this sexual frustration for another six weeks. Living next to this unattainable god for _six long weeks_.

Elio pushed off his bed to shower before dinner. His pendulum of feelings suddenly swung back in favor of Oliver, and Elio couldn’t stop himself from looking forward to seeing him downstairs. He grabbed his jeans and his favorite red-and-white striped shirt, the one he knew he looked good in. He would make Oliver see what he was missing.

*****

That night, Elio tossed and turned, trying to sleep, trying _not_ to think about that fact that Oliver had missed dinner and still hadn’t come home, all while attempting to ignore his aching cock. He refused— _REFUSED_ —to lay a hand on himself with thoughts of Oliver while Oliver was probably off fucking some girl from the village. He flipped his body over, landing with a thud on his mattress. He stared at the bathroom door, willing the sound of Oliver’s bedroom door slamming open, signaling that Oliver had finally come home.

But all he could hear were the cicadas in the distance.

*****

****

The next morning, Elio woke later than usual after his restless night. He pulled on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and made his way downstairs. Oliver’s door was open, his room empty.

_Did he never come home last night_? Elio wondered with a twist in his gut. 

But as he got closer to the back patio, he heard his father and Oliver’s laughter mingling together, indiscernible from each other. A flame of jealousy flared in Elio’s belly. _He_ wanted to make Oliver laugh that way.

“Good morning, _tesoro_. Mafalda made some biscotti. Come, eat,” Elio’s mother said as soon as Elio was through the door. Oliver and Samuel briefly glanced up and smiled at Elio, but were deep in a conversation about American cinema. They quickly returned to their debate, barely acknowledging Elio as he sat down and poured himself some juice.

“1970’s American cinema lacks beauty. It’s all grit and grime. Gratuitous violence and even more gratuitous sex. To call it art is a stretch,” Samuel was arguing.

Oliver shook his head emphatically. “It isn’t gratuitous, it’s real. And there is beauty to be found in that realism. Those films reflected what people were feeling at the time. The disenfranchisement, the alienation.”

“They were a rejection of the artificial American Dream aesthetic,” Elio mumbled, staring down at his plate.

Oliver and Samuel both turned to look at Elio, Oliver with an interested expression on his face. “Go on, Elio,” he said encouragingly.

Elio flushed, embarrassed to have all the attention suddenly on him. He took a sip of his juice. “I don’t have anything else to say,” he said, looking away from the table.

Oliver watched him for another moment then stood up. “Well, as interesting as I find this conversation, I need to go into town to see my translator. Thank you for breakfast.” He gathered up his papers that were piled at the end of the table. “Later.”

The moment he was out of earshot, Elio muttered mockingly, “ _Later_.”

His parents simultaneously threw him disapproving looks.

*****

Oliver stayed away for most of the morning to the dismay of Elio. He wandered the house aimlessly for a few hours, plucking at the piano, then going into the kitchen to see what Malfada was making. She tolerated Elio underfoot for only a few minute before shooing him out. He grabbed his latest issue of _Diabolik_ and ran up the stairs, two at a time, to hide away in his room.

The late morning air was hot and muggy, and Elio struggled to focus on the words in his comic. His mind drifted back to Oliver again and again. Elio resisted with his mind as long as he could, but his body betrayed him, once again reacting to uninvited thoughts of Oliver’s naked torso, the bulge in Oliver’s bathing suit, the memory of Oliver’s grip on his bicep from the day before.

_Here we go again,_ Elio thought resignedly, slipping his hand down the front of his shorts. He realized that resisting his body’s response to Oliver was a Sisyphean task, and he decided that he would just have to give in to it. He grasped his growing erection and gave it a tentative pull, then another and another.

Two loud knocks sounded through the door, and suddenly a bare-chested Oliver was looming over Elio. Elio yanked his hand out of his shorts in a panic, grabbing his comic book to feign nonchalance. But his cock was fully hard and leaking by this time, and when Oliver reached down to grasp Elio's hand, he saw. He saw and he _knew_.

Elio wanted to die.

Oliver graciously pretended not to notice, exiting Elio’s room and giving him some time to recover before they went swimming. Elio pulled off his now-damp shorts and grabbed his bathing suit, walking into the bathroom just in time to catch a glimpse of Oliver’s bare ass as he stepped into his swim trunks. Elio’s heart shot into his throat, and he stored the visual in his brain for a later moment.

Oliver was attempting laps in the small pool when Elio finally made it downstairs. He stood back in the shade of a tree for a moment, watching Oliver’s long strokes, strong and elegant despite his large frame in the tiny space. _I will never be that graceful,_ Elio thought with wonder and a touch of envy.

Oliver paused to take a break from his workout and caught sight of Elio in the shadows. “Elio. Why are you standing over there?” he asked, wiping the water from his eyes. He leaned against the inner wall of the pool, waiting for Elio to answer.

Elio shrugged in an attempt at disinterest and walked over to the pool. He had been caught, and he struggled to come up with a reason for why he’d been watching Oliver. “Enjoying the shade. It’s so hot today.”

Oliver shielded his eyes from the sun, looking up at Elio who now stood over him. “Well, then get in the pool. Isn’t that why you changed into your suit?”

Oliver returned to his laps without waiting for an answer from Elio. Elio shifted awkwardly. Why did Oliver always make him feel so dim? As if the connection between his brain and his mouth became fuzzy and unreliable in Oliver’s presence.

Elio finally walked over to the pool, set down his music notebook, and slid into the cool water. He watched Oliver for a moment before picking up his pencil, making a weak attempt at working on his transcriptions. After only a few seconds, his eyes were pulled back to Oliver, as if by a magnetic force beyond his control. When Oliver was in his line of vision, he found that he couldn’t concentrate on anything _but_ Oliver.

Oliver paused in his laps. Elio hurriedly looked down at his notebook again.

“Elio, what are you doing?”

Elio wracked his brain for an intelligent answer. He came up empty.

“Reading my music.”

“No you’re not.”

_Fuck._

“Thinking, then.”

“Yeah? About what?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across Elio’s face before he could stop it. _If only Oliver knew._

“It’s private.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“I’m not going to tell you.”

For a fleeting moment, Elio felt that he had the upper hand with Oliver. Oliver wanted something from Elio, and Elio felt powerful withholding that from him. Oliver quickly stole back Elio’s imagined advantage though, by leaving the pool entirely to help Elio’s mother pick some apricots for the next morning’s breakfast. Elio sternly ordered himself to return to his music and ignore Oliver’s exit, but it was useless. Seconds later, he was next to Oliver at the tree, helping to pick the fruit, and Oliver had once again regained the upper hand.

Oliver took a generous bite of an apricot, glancing down at Elio with a smirk. “Nice of you to join us.”

Elio tossed the fruit he had just picked into the waiting basket next to him. “My mom needed our help,” he answered testily.

“Elio, I don’t want to take you from your music. It's okay if you're busy,” Annella answered. Elio glanced up in time to catch her exchanging a knowing smile with Oliver.

“I don’t mind,” he mumbled.

“You’re a good son,” Oliver teased, bumping his hip against Elio’s, which pleased Elio. He liked when Oliver ribbed him like that; it made him feel worthy of attention. He wracked his brain for a witty reply but he couldn’t think of a thing to say that didn’t sound contrived. The boys worked in silence for a few more minutes, picking the fruit in the hot midday sun, until Annella interrupted with a concerned hand on Elio’s shoulder.

“ _Amore_ , you’re starting to burn. I think we have enough apricots for now. Oliver, will you take the basket to Mafalda?”

Oliver tossed the last apricot he had picked into the basket, then lifted it up, balancing it against one hip. “Of course. I’ll let her know that I won’t be here for dinner tonight, as well.”

Elio’s head jerked up, and he resisted the urge to cry out, _Again?_ He bit back the words and looked away, hiding his disappointment that Oliver would miss yet another meal at the Perlman house.

Oliver started towards the house, looking back as he went. “Later!”

Elio scowled, saying nothing.

*****

Oliver stayed out late again that night, and Elio had fallen asleep waiting for his return. He was woken by noises coming from Oliver’s room sometime in the early hours of the morning. At first, Elio thought that perhaps Oliver had stayed out all night, and was just straggling in as the sun was starting to rise. But then he heard his father’s voice, low and serious, followed by Oliver’s. Elio sat up straight in bed, disoriented and confused.

Elio grabbed his watch from the table next to his bed and clicked the button that turned on the light. It was 5:46am. Elio’s bewilderment grew. He could not think of a single reason why his father would be in Oliver’s room at this time of the morning. Elio reached down and grabbed his discarded jeans from the floor, quickly pulling them on so he could go investigate. He walked softly through the bathroom, then tapped lightly on Oliver’s door before pushing it open a crack.

The scene in front of him was alarming. Oliver was zipping up his packed duffle bag while Samuel was checking the room for any missed items. Elio immediately noticed that his closet was emptied of Oliver’s clothing, and his books were gone from Elio’s desk. There could only be one possible explanation: Oliver was leaving.

Elio’s blood ran cold.

Samuel noticed Elio and hurried over to him, frozen in the bathroom doorway.

“Elio, we didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What’s going on? Is Oliver leaving?”

Samuel pressed his lips together, his face contorted with worry. “We just got word that Oliver’s father had a heart attack last night. He’s alive, but he’s in critical condition. Oliver needs to get home immediately to see him.” 

Oliver looked up then, his face pinched and weary. “I’m sorry to have woken you, Elio.” He hitched his bag over his shoulder. “Thank you for letting me stay in your room.”

Elio had the distinct feeling that Oliver was already gone, his mind halfway back to the U.S. with his family.

“I’m sorry about your father.” Elio had no idea what to say. He felt like an awkward child.

Oliver gave him a weak smile, but there was no light behind it. “Thank you. It was nice to meet you, Elio. Good luck with… everything.”

Elio nodded, words escaping him. He watched as Oliver walked out of the room. Samuel turned back to Elio.

“Go back to sleep, Elio. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

Elio stayed in the doorway, listening to the light thumps of Oliver and Samuel’s shoes descending the staircase. The front door opened, then slammed closed. Elio considered for a moment going to his window to watch the two men climb into Samuel’s Fiat, a somber reversal of Oliver’s exciting entrance only a week before. But he was startled at how hard he was taking Oliver sudden departure and he couldn’t bear to watch him leave. He did the only thing he felt emotionally capable of at that moment: he crawled into his bed, pulled a pillow over his face, and squeezed his eyes closed. A single sob escaped from somewhere deep inside of him, muffled by the weight of his pillow. He took a few deep breathes, willing himself to not cry, and eventually fell into an exhausted slumber.

*****

Elio slept in until the late morning. As soon as he woke, the memory of earlier that morning washed over him like a bucket of ice water. Oliver was gone.

Elio sighed, and he stared at the ceiling feeling empty and a bit lost. He couldn’t put a finger on why Oliver’s departure was affecting him so much. It had been only a week, and much of that time Oliver had spent ignoring Elio. But even though he couldn’t explain the feeling, it was very real. He was incredibly sad that Oliver was gone.

Elio dragged himself out of bed to go look into Oliver’s—now his own once again—bedroom. Even though Oliver hadn’t had a lot of possessions, the room looked vacant and hollow with him gone. Elio walked over to the bed and laid a hand gently on the pillow, as if it might still be warm from the memory of its last occupant. The pillow was cool to the touch.

Elio felt braver and crawled onto the bed, thinking of Oliver under those same sheets only six hours ago. He turned his head into the pillow and inhaled. The lingering scent of Oliver clung to the fabric. Elio recognized the musky notes of Oliver’s cologne, and mingled with that, a hint of cigarettes. Elio wrapped the sheets tightly around him, picturing Oliver’s naked body in this same bed. But now that Oliver was gone, the image only served to depress Elio rather than excite him. He blinked away the tears that threatened to dampen his eyes again.

_No more crying over some guy who barely knew I was alive_ , Elio scolded himself. He threw off the sheets and pulled himself out of Oliver’s bed to get some breakfast, determined to put Oliver out of his mind.

Elio’s parents were already at the table talking quietly when Elio joined them. Elio’s mother reached over and stroked Elio’s hand affectionately when he sat down. Elio’s father looked more tired than usual.

“Did you sleep well?” his mother asked, always concerned about Elio.

“I’m sorry we woke you, Elio. Oliver felt bad about that,” his father said.

Elio quickly shook his head. “No, it’s okay. I’m glad I got to say goodbye. Was he alright?”

Samuel sighed. “He was in shock, I think. I know he wasn’t close with his father, but no one expects to lose a parent at such a young age.”

Elio set down his knife, surprised at this news. “Is he going to die?”

Samuel tugged at his beard, thinking. “You never know—miracles do sometimes happen—but my impression was that Oliver was rushing home to say goodbye.”

“Oh.” Elio looked down at his plate. He felt even guiltier for thinking of Oliver’s naked body now, knowing that his father was probably dying.

“You can move back into your room now. I’m sure you’re eager to have your bed back,” his mother interjected, trying to lighten the mood at the table.

Elio shrugged. “I guess.” He felt so terrible for Oliver, he didn’t even care about his bedroom anymore.

Elio finished his breakfast and excused himself to go upstairs and move himself back into his old room. It wouldn’t take long—he had only a few articles of clothing and books to move. He opened the door to his bedroom to find Mafalda smoothing new sheets onto his bed.

“Mafalda! _Perchè lo hai fatto (why did you do that?)_?” he exclaimed, rushing into the room.

Mafalda glanced up, tutting at Elio but not bothering to respond. She gathered up the dirty sheets, shot Elio a reproachful look, and left the room. Elio sat on his desk chair, trying to take back emotional ownership of the space from Oliver, still upset that Mafalda had stripped away the last little piece of Oliver left in the Perlman household. He surveyed the space; Oliver had left it almost exactly how he had found it eight days ago. If anything, it was probably neater than how Elio had left it for him.

Elio suddenly spied a piece of light blue fabric peeking out from under his bed. He stood up to investigate… in his rush to leave, could Oliver have left something behind? Elio crouched down and pulled the garment out from under his bed and held it up in front of him. It was wrinkled but it seemed to be clean. Elio recognized it immediately--it was the blue button-up shirt Oliver had been wearing the day he had arrived at the Perlman home. Elio didn’t think he would ever forget his first impression of Oliver, and he was certain this was the same shirt.

He considered taking it downstairs to Mafalda to wash and iron so it could be returned to Oliver via airmail. But then Elio thought… would Oliver really miss one shirt? He held the shirt against his chest, noticing that it was at least two sizes too large. He slipped in on over his t-shirt, rolled up the sleeves, then walked over to the mirror see how he looked.

Elio wasn’t sure if it was because of a mystique that clung to the shirt due to its previous owner, or maybe the color was just flattering on Elio. What he did know was that he looked _good_. The shirt would stay, Elio decided with a satisfied smile.

Elio turned to get the rest of the books from the other room, feeling more confident swathed in Oliver’s shirt. He began to plan the rest of his day, and decided that he would give Marzia a call that afternoon. She had seemed interested in hanging out the other day.

Oliver was, at least for the moment, out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this chapter, or have anything at all to say, please leave a comment. Writers love comments!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to 1986, Manhattan. Oliver and Elio have another chance encounter.... of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the support I have received for this fic! I appreciate all of you so much xxoo
> 
> And thank you to my beta reader, @Hendricksplease, for catching my little mistakes when I don't

Chapter Three

**_April 1986, Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York_ **

“Good to see you, too… Oliver,” Elio said, watching Oliver leave. He wasn’t sure if Oliver even heard. He stood for a moment, lost in thought.  
  


“Who was that?” Elio was snapped back to the present by Hannah’s voice. He had forgotten for a moment that she was even there. Elio paused, having a curious urge to keep this piece of his past to himself. But that was silly. Hannah was his girlfriend and Oliver was a guy he had a crush on for one week, three years ago. It might as well have been a life-time ago. That’s what it felt like.

He glanced down at Hannah with what he hoped was a lighthearted smile. “Oliver Weiss. He was one of my dad’s summer students. But he only stayed a week. His father had a heart attack while he was with us, and he had to leave early.”

“Oh, how terrible! Is his father okay now?”

Elio was struck by guilt, realizing that he had never offered Oliver his condolences. He shook his head. “No. He… he passed away that summer.”

“How sad.” Hannah was genuinely upset for this man she had never met. Elio pulled her into a hug. She was so good for him, always reminding him to think of other people, to not get stuck in the “Elio-bubble” that he used to exist in for so much of his life.

He kissed the top of Hannah’s head, then pulled back. “I need to take this tray into the kitchen and clock out, then I’ll be ready to go.”

Elio lifted the tray and lugged it into the kitchen, unloading it into the sink for Jack, the dishwasher, to take care of.

“That’s the last load,” he told Jack. He punched his time card and turned to go, when Jonah came through the kitchen door.

“Ok Perlman, spill it. What was the drama with table six?” Jonah asked, crossing his arms and blocking the door so Elio couldn’t make an escape.

Elio paused with an eye roll. “Not now, Jonah. It’s been a long night and Hannah’s waiting for me.”

Jonah put his hands on either side of door frame, undeterred. “Dude. I took that table for you, and I was _swamped_. You owe me.”

Elio sighed. Jonah was right. He had done Elio a huge solid, and Elio owed him… had _promised_ him… an explanation. He glanced around to see who else was around. Jack was on the only other person in the kitchen, and he had the water running.

Elio shrugged, trying hard to seem like it wasn’t a big deal. Correction: it _wasn't_ a big deal. “The guy had been an intern of my father’s. He stayed with us for a week one summer when I was in high school. I was… I don’t know, just kind of an asshole to him.”

Jonah stared at Elio, as if he were deciphering his words, reading between the lines. “You were an asshole, huh?” He paused, trying to decide if this explanation was enough. “I guess I can see why you wouldn’t want to see him then.”

He put his hands down and stepped aside. “Well, you better go. Your girlfriend is waiting for you.” He gave Elio an odd look and turned to clock out.

Elio stood frozen for a moment, wondering why Jonah was looking at him that way, but decided to just shrug it off. He passed Jonah and returned to the dining room to find Hannah. She was waiting with her coat already on, ready to go.

“Do you want to come over? We can watch _Rambo_.”

Elio wrinkled his nose. Six months and Hannah still sometimes seemed clueless about Elio’s taste in the television, books, and movies. He pulled on his coat, on the verge of turning her down; telling her he was tired and just wanted to go home. But he glanced up at her, and she looked so eager, so happy to just spend some time with him, that he ignored his first impulse and nodded.

“Sure. _Rambo_ sounds great.”

Hannah was good for him.

*****

They stopped at a greasy spoon on the way to Hannah’s apartment and picked up burgers and fries to go. Elio’s diet had deteriorated a shocking amount since starting college. He rarely cooked for himself, and when he did, it was usually canned soup, boxed macaroni and cheese, or ramen noodles. He often thought of how disgusted Mafalda would be if she knew.

Hannah shared a tiny apartment near NYU, where she and Elio met, with a roommate who was rarely home. Elio visited Hannah there several nights a week, and felt comfortable enough to kick off his shoes and throw himself onto her couch as soon as they were inside. He had his own apartment a few blocks away, but it was often filthy and Hannah complained about it every time she was there.

Hannah plated their food and brought it over to the couch.

  
“Do you have practice in the morning?”

Elio took a huge bite of his burger and nodded. “I have a piano lesson with Natalia at 9, then Theory Seminar at 1,” he answered with a mouthful of food.

“Maybe we can meet for lunch in between?”

Elio gave a noncommittal shrug. Sometimes Hannah’s possessiveness over Elio’s very limited free time was exhausting. He felt the need to put some distance between them.

“I think I’ll probably go to the library then.”

“Oh. Okay. It was just a thought. But if you’re busy…”

Hannah waited for a moment to see if Elio would change his mind. When he took another bite of his burger and didn’t respond, she got up to put the movie into the VCR. She returned to the couch, snuggling up close to him as they ate and watched the film. Elio finished his food, and within minutes, felt his eyes starting to close. It had been another long day of classes and work. _Rambo_ just wasn’t worth fighting to stay awake for.

Elio’s thoughts had drifted into that soft, fuzzy place that existed between wakefulness and slumber, his mind relaxed and free to roam. They immediately turned to Oliver—the Oliver of tonight, older and sophisticated, and then the Oliver of three years ago, tan and carefree. The intensity of his attraction to Oliver had returned to him in the span of a three-minute interaction, and his brain was happy to settle comfortably into happy memories of Oliver in his swim trunks as Elio fell into a deep sleep.

Elio was woken some time later with the pleasurable sensation of soft lips on his neck and a firm grip between his legs. He was still half-asleep and he laid his head back on the couch, enjoying the pressure on his (apparently) fully erect cock. He gave a soft moan and opened one eye.

Hannah giggled. “I don’t know what you were dreaming about Elio, but it sure made you hard. Relax and let me take care of you.”

Elio came to full wakefulness and a wave of guilt washed over him. He knew what, or rather who, he had been dreaming about, and it hadn’t been Hannah. But her hands, and then mouth, felt too good on him, so he gave in and let her continue.

But his mind stayed stubbornly focused on that set of blue eyes.

****

An hour later, Elio was back at his own apartment. He used the well-worn excuse of his books and sheet music being back at his place. Hannah pouted a bit but let him go without much of a fight. She was used to Elio often choosing to return to his own apartment to sleep, even in the middle of the night, despite her pleas every time for him to stay.

Elio hung up his coat in his apartment’s one closet, and a thought occurred to him. He dug through the closet until he came upon Oliver’s blue button-up, the one he had nicknamed ‘Billowy’ the summer Oliver had left. He had worn it so much that year that the fabric was now worn, the color faded. At the end of his senior year, he made a conscious decision to pack it away, along with his immature crush on an unattainable memory. He had brought it to New York the following fall out of habit and nostalgia, but he was over Oliver, and had rarely worn it.

He took it out now and brought it over to his bed. He pulled off his work shirt, and replaced it with Billowy. He felt so silly, as if he were turning into that love-sick 17 year old again, but he couldn’t deny that seeing Oliver had unearthed a trove of feelings that he had assumed were dead and buried.

Elio brushed his teeth and tugged off his jeans. He started to pull off Oliver’s shirt, but for some reason, he just couldn’t do it. He kept the shirt on, turned off the light, and climbed into bed.

Elio stared sightlessly at the ceiling trying to make sense of his feelings. His crush on Oliver that summer had been so all-consuming that it had been almost frightening to Elio. He experienced deep sadness when Oliver was called away, but there was also a sense of relief there. Elio would no longer have to examine these confusing feelings that he had had for a man.

He began dating Marzia immediately after Oliver’s departure, as if he needed a vessel in which to place all his intense, unrequited emotions. Their relationship was a pleasant mix of comfortable friendship and exploratory sex, and it been a welcome distraction from his thoughts of Oliver. They lasted until they both left for college, parting amicably. Elio had dated a few girls last year, and now he was in a committed relationship with Hannah. His attraction to Oliver had been an anomaly--a blip on his sexual radar.

Or at least this was what Elio told himself. He _was_ attracted to females, and even though he found himself sometimes noticing boys in his classes or on campus, none of them fascinated him in the way that Oliver had. None of them were worth sacrificing the sense of normalcy that came with dating girls. So, up until tonight, Elio had been successful at packing away those feelings into a private box within him and soundly ignoring them.

But _this_ feeling.... the feeling that resulted in Elio finding and retrieving Oliver’s old shirt from deep within his closet, and now sleeping in the reclaimed shirt? That feeling would not be so easily ignored.

*****

  
Elio woke at his regular time to prepare for his busy day: a private piano lesson, studying, grabbing a quick lunch, then sophomore seminar, followed by more studying. He didn’t have to work that night, and he was already counting the hours until he could collapse on his couch and watch some mindless television.

Elio dragged himself to the bathroom to shower, peeling off Oliver’s shirt and dropping it into his laundry hamper. He didn’t feel under the intense hold it had had on him the previous night, and he tossed it aside without a second thought. He shook his head at his dramatic emotions from earlier. _Ridiculous._ Why had he been suddenly so consumed with memories of a man he had all but forgotten in the last two years? It seemed silly now in the morning light.

Twenty minute later, freshly showered and dressed in his own clothing, Elio threw his books and an apple into his backpack, pulled on his coat, and headed downstairs to catch the B train to the Upper West Side, where his piano teacher Natalia lived.

Elio had decided not to study music at NYU, but he didn’t want his piano skills to decline from misuse while he was away at college. Natalia was a friend-of-a-friend of his father’s, and played for the New York Repertory Orchestra. Her apartment was a long trek from Elio’s apartment, but she was worth it. She was probably the best piano teacher Elio had ever had, and he was improving quickly under her tutelage. His plan was to eventually earn money playing professionally, part-time, so he could quit the job at Mario’s that he was so terrible at.

Elio’s hour-long piano lesson flew by. When it was over, he said goodbye to Natalia and stepped into the harsh midmorning Manhattan sun, glancing at his watch to see how long he had until his seminar. He had a few hours to kill, and he was already dragging a bit.

_Coffee,_ he decided, and headed down to 87th to Amsterdam where he knew there was a decent coffee shop. As he was walking, it suddenly occurred to him that he must be near Oliver’s apartment. His address appeared in Elio’s brain as if it were tattooed there.

_102 West 85 th Street._

Elio turned onto Amsterdam, heading in the direction of 85th. It felt odd, being so close to Oliver’s apartment, even though he was most likely teaching at the moment. When Elio reached his street, he stopped at the corner and looked down towards Oliver’s building.

_Don’t do it,_ he warned himself. The last thing he needed would be to be caught stalking Oliver outside his place of residence. He shook his head and kept going, passing Oliver’s block. A few minutes later, he reached Café Lalo. He ordered a cappuccino and a croissant, and found a quiet corner table to eat and get a bit of studying done. He felt a pang of guilt that he had chosen a solitary meal over lunch with Hannah, but he shook it off. He didn’t have to spend every free moment with her.

Elio finished his cappuccino and settled into _Death in Venice_ , which he was re-reading for his German Literature class. It was a good choice for public reading, as he had already read it his senior year in high school for his own enjoyment. He was deep in the throes of Aschenbach’s obsession with Tadzio when a familiar laugh echoed from the front of the coffee shop. Elio’s heart stopped at the sound, and he froze in his seat.

_This is what I get for stopping somewhere so close to his apartment,_ he chastised himself.

His back was to the front of the store, and he sat very still, torn between waiting for Oliver to leave, and wanting to turn in his seat to get a look.

Elio decided to chance a look and turned, oh-so-slowly, to try and catch a glimpse of Oliver. He was taken aback by the sight of Oliver walking right towards him, looking dashing in a suit and trench coat, followed by the same woman he had been with the previous night. Elio realized too late that the only empty table in the place was right next to his own.

Oliver noticed him immediately, his face widening into an expression of happy shock.

“Oh my god, Elio! What a coincidence seeing you here!” Oliver stopped at the table next to Elio’s. “Do you mind if we sit next to you? Are you studying?”

Elio set down his book and stood up, trying to smile. It seemed like the proper thing to do.

“Oliver. Good to see you again.” Elio’s heart was pounding out of his chest, and he was amazed that he was able to keep his voice steady.

“Rebecca, this is Elio. I stayed with his family in Italy for a week a few summers ago. Elio, this is Rebecca.”

Elio and Rebecca shook hands, and then settled into their chairs. Elio turned his so he was facing their table.

“I don’t want to keep you from your work,” Oliver started, but Elio put up a hand.

“It’s fine. I was ready for a break.” He looked at the two of them and was struck by what an attractive couple they made. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oliver, I never told you how sorry I was to hear about your father.”

Oliver gave a sad smile. “Thank you, Elio. It was such a shock at the time. And I’ve always regretted the time that I missed with your family in Italy. Did you get another student that summer?”

Elio shook his head. “No.” Elio had a million questions for Oliver, and at the same time could not think of a single thing to say. He longed to bolt for the door. “So, do you… are you… teaching?” He cringed at his own awkward question. Of course Oliver was a professor.

Oliver didn’t seem to mind the obviousness of Elio’s query. “I’m teaching Classics at Columbia, and working on my second book. And Rebecca is an Anthropology professor there.”

Elio nodded, flashing a weak smile at Rebecca. What a perfect pair they were. Elio glanced at his watch and realized that he needed to leave if he was to make his seminar on-time. He pushed his chair away from the table with an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry but I need to go. I have class in less than an hour. Rebecca, it was nice to meet you.”

Elio stood up to gather his things, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Oliver, good to see you again.”

Elio turned to go, but was stopped by Oliver’s voice. “Elio, wait.”

Elio turned expectantly. He was surprised to see that Oliver seemed nervous. “May I get your phone number? I would love to catch up with you when you have more time.”

Elio glanced at Rebecca who was smiling sweetly at Elio, oblivious to the lurid fantasies the man in front of her used to have about her… boyfriend? Husband?

Elio hesitated, but eventually nodded. He opened his backpack, pulled out a notebook and ripped a piece of paper of out of it. He jotted down his home phone number.

“Here you go. Maybe Hannah and I can meet you and Rebecca for dinner one night?”

Oliver opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, his lips in a tight line. Elio could not read his expression at all. Finally Oliver replied.

“Sure, yeah. That sounds great. I’ll give you a call and we’ll set it up. Bye Elio.”

Elio gave a last wave and escaped out onto the sidewalk. He breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he the door closed. Two Oliver encounters in 24-hours after 3 years of silence. It was almost too much for Elio’s heart to take.

****

Elio made it to seminar just in time, sliding into a seat near the back. Afterwards, he headed to the library to study, then stopped at his favorite Chinese restaurant to pick up some sesame chicken for dinner. He realized that he hadn’t spoken to Hannah all day and knew that she would most likely want him to come over that night.

Sure enough, the light on his answering machine was blinking when he walked in his front door. He played the messages: one from his mother, checking in; another from the book store telling him that a text book he had ordered had arrived, and two messages from Hannah, the second one asking him to come over that night.

Elio was exhausted and couldn’t deal with Hannah at the moment. He decided to face her wrath for not returning her phone call tomorrow rather than her pleas for him to come over tonight.

_Delayed consequences_ , he thought wryly.

Elio fell onto his couch with his takeout container and chopsticks, brushing off some potato chip crumbs from a few nights ago onto the floor, and grabbed the remote. It was Thursday night and he was done with school work. He was finally able to just sit and vegetate. He turned on _Cheers_ , propping his legs up on his coffee table, heaving a sigh of relief that his day was over. Just as he was finally relaxed, his phone rang.

_Hannah,_ he thought with an groan. He reluctantly pulled himself off the couch to answer the call. She would know that he would be home by now.

“Hello,” he answered.

“Elio? Hi. It’s Oliver.”

Elio’s stomach did a giant flip. He had given Oliver his phone number, so the call shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Yet Elio still felt on the verge of shock, hearing his voice on the line.

“Oliver. Hello. Um… how are you?” Elio kicked himself internally at his inane response.

Oliver laughed softly, his voice warm and low. “Still good since I saw you this afternoon. I’m calling to see if you and Hannah wanted to meet for dinner tomorrow night?”

Elio paused again. Would he survive an entire dinner with Oliver? And would having Hannah there make it easier… or infinitely worse? He decided that there was only one way to find out.

“Sure, we could do that. We’re both working Saturday night, but I’m pretty sure Hannah is free tomorrow night. It sounds, um… fun.”

“Great! How about the Delaney Grill on 8th? 7:00?”

It occurred to Elio how thrilled Hannah would be to go on a double date with another couple. “Sure, sounds good. See you then.”

“See you then, Elio.”

Elio hung up the phone and leaned against the kitchen counter. It was done. This was something that 17-year old Elio would have killed for--an entire evening with Oliver. _And both of their girlfriends,_ he reminded himself.

Was he going to regret agreeing to this?


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The double-date!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the post, delete, and re-post! @elementalpea caught a pretty significant continuity error that I needed to fix. Hope there are no more big mistakes. Enjoy!
> 
> The next chapter will be a flashback from Oliver's perspective and will be longer, I promise!

Chapter Four

Hannah and Elio had standing Friday night plans whenever they both didn’t have to work. What they did together varied, but more often than not, they picked up take-out and watched a movie at Hannah’s place. On the rare occasion that Elio did suggest they go out, especially to a “real” restaurant that required getting a bit dressed-up, Hannah was always very excited. Elio was sure she would be thrilled to hear about the plans he had made for them with Oliver and Rebecca.

Elio had German Literature first thing Friday morning, and then he would be gone most of the day. He decided that he better call Hannah before her first class, to give her plenty of notice to get ready for the night. She answered his call on the first ring, as if she knew it was Elio.

“Hello.” She sounded annoyed.

Elio swallowed. “Hey Hannah, it’s me.”

Silence.

Elio tried again. “Um, hello? Hannah? It’s Elio.”

A heavy sigh came through Elio’s receiver. “Yes, I know it’s you, Elio. Why didn’t you call me back last night? I thought we were having dinner together.”

Elio twisted the phone cord around his finger, trying to remember his last conversation with Hannah. He was almost positive that they hadn’t made dinner plans. “I’m sorry. I was studying late at the library and then I just grabbed some Chinese on my way home. I was exhausted.”

“Too exhausted to even call me back?” Hannah tried to sound annoyed, but Elio could hear the hurt in her voice.

Elio tried his best to show that he was remorseful. “You’re totally right. I should have called you back. Do you forgive me?”

Elio thought back to his decision the night before to face Hannah’s anger today rather than have to speak to her last night. He cursed out himself out for living in the moment.

There was more silence on the line, then another sigh. “Don’t I always? But you know what, Elio? One of these days, I’m not going to. And then what are you going to do?”

Elio didn’t have an answer to that, so decided to change the subject to something he knew would cheer her up. “I’m calling because I wanted to see if you are up for a double-date tonight at Delaney Grill.”

Elio could practically hear Hannah perk up over the phone line. “A double-date? With who?”

“Oliver Weiss. My father’s intern from the other night who came into Mario's? He invited the two of us to dinner tonight.”

Hannah couldn’t hide her delight. “That sounds so fun! Oh, what should I wear? Should I wear a dress? No, that’s too much, right? Maybe just a skirt. Or jeans and boots? What do you think, Elio?”

It occurred to Elio that he should probably take Hannah out more often. She was obviously in dire need of a reason to dress-up.

“Whatever you wear, you’ll look beautiful,” he said, happy that his thoughtlessness from the night before had been forgotten. “Meet me here at 6:30 and we’ll walk to the restaurant together.”

“Perfect. Oh, I’m so excited, Elio!”

Elio had a lot of feelings about the night ahead, but he wasn’t sure that _excited_ was even one of them. _Anxious_ and perhaps _terrified_ were currently the top candidates.

*****

Elio obsessed more than he should have over what to wear to dinner, but finally landed on jeans and a simple green button-up. His hair was getting long and his curls were unruly. He was in the process of fussing with them when Hannah arrived at 6:30 on the dot, looking adorable in a jeans skirt and boots. She chattered animatedly the entire walk to dinner, which was actually a relief to Elio, whose nerves were kicking up several notches the closer they got to the restaurant.

Delaney Grill was a large, two-story restaurant on the border of the theater district and Hell’s Kitchen. As they got closer to the entrance, Hannah reached out and took Elio’s hand. Elio had the urge to pull it back—he and Hannah rarely engaged in PDA—but the last thing he wanted to do was upset her right before their date. Several people were waiting outside, and Elio realized that two of them were Oliver and Rebecca. They were standing away from the crowd, chatting amicably but not holding hands or touching. Oliver looked up just as Elio and Hannah approached them, his face lighting up into a welcoming smile, raising his hand in greeting.

Elio nodded his head, his anxiety increasing at the sight of Oliver. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans. It occurred to Elio that he had never seen Oliver in jeans before, and that they suited him very well. He turned to say hello to Rebecca to stop himself from staring.

“Oliver, Rebecca, good to see you again. This is Hannah.”

Hannah stepped forward to shake both their hands, gawking at them in wonder. They were a stunning sight-- both tall, gorgeous, and beautifully dressed.

“So nice to meet you both,” she gushed. “Oliver, Elio tells me that you worked with his father?”

Oliver nodded. “Well, I was his intern for about half a second three summers ago. But he made a huge impression on me that summer. As did Elio.”

Elio looked up at this statement, his stomach doing a small flutter. What did Oliver mean by that?

Just then, the hostess came out of the front door. “Weiss, party of four? Your table is ready.”

The waitress led them to their table on the second floor and after they had settled in, Oliver ordered the table an expensive bottle of wine. The waitress luckily didn’t bat an eye at Elio and Hannah, both underage, as her attention was focused like a laser on Oliver.

“Excellent choice in vintage. You really know your wine,” she said with a flirtatious smile.

As she walked away, Rebecca gave a snort. “I think she liked you, Oliver.”

Hannah gave her a curious look. “That doesn’t bother you? When waitresses flirt with him?”

Elio had wondered the same thing, and watched as Oliver and Rebecca glanced at each other. A silent conversation seemed to be happening between the two of them, as Rebecca raised an eyebrow and Oliver responded with a shrug. The entire exchange lasted perhaps a second, but it seemed to be replete with meaning.

Rebecca looked over at Elio and Hannah across the table. “We aren’t… together. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.”

Elio’s eyes widened in surprise. He searched his memory bank for how Oliver had described Rebecca and realized that he had never actually said that they were a couple. That had always just been Elio’s assumption.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. When Elio said we were going on a double-date, I just presumed...” Hannah was mortified by what had just transpired.

Oliver put up a hand. “No, no. It’s my fault. I should have realized what we looked like to Elio, seeing us together twice. And we…” Oliver paused and glanced again at Rebecca who gave him a fond smile. “We _did_ used to be a couple. So it’s easy to see how the assumption was made.”

Just then the waitress returned with the wine. The relief at her interruption at the table was palatable as she poured each of them a glass.

“A toast,” Oliver said, raising his glass. “To friends, old and new. So good to see you again, Elio. And wonderful to meet you, Hannah.”

The four clinked glasses and took long sips of their wine, each hoping that the alcohol would dissipate some of the awkwardness that was hanging in the air.

Rebecca set down her glass. “So, you are both students at NYU? How do you like it? My sister did her undergrad there and had mixed feelings.”

“Oh, we love it! I’m a poli-sci major and Elio is studying comparative literature. I have had the best professors. Oh my god, I have this one professor who brings his cockatoo to class sometimes!”

Elio tuned Hannah out as she started to regale Rebecca with stories about her college experience. He glanced over at Oliver and was surprised to see Oliver staring at him. Oliver quickly looked away when he realized that he had been caught.

“We had better decide what we want to order,” he said to no one in particular, picking up his menu. Elio did the same, but had difficulty focusing on the words in front of him. He saw they had fried chicken and decided that he would order that, just to have the decision made. He set down his menu and looked over at Oliver again. Oliver seemed to feel his eyes on him and looked up.

“What are you having, Elio?” he asked.

“I think the fried chicken.”

“I’ve had that here before. It’s delicious.” He gave Elio another smile and looked back down at his menu.

The waitress came and took their order, and Oliver turned to Elio. “How are your parents, Elio? I fell out of contact with your father after that summer. It’s something that I’ve always regretted. I really looked up to him.”

“They’re doing great. They’re at our house in Milan right now, but they’ll be back in Crema this summer. You should reach out to him, Oliver. I know that he would love to hear from you. He always keeps in contact with his summer students.”

Oliver shrugged. “I was barely there. It almost seems like a dream, the week that I was there. It was… probably the best week of my life.”

Oliver flushed at that, looking away from Elio as if he were embarrassed to make such an admission. Elio didn’t know why, but he felt like there was something more behind Oliver’s words. He just had no idea what.

Oliver suddenly pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use the restroom before our food comes.”

Rebecca asked Hannah about her job at Mario’s, and Hannah launched into a long story about a customer from earlier that week. Elio watched Oliver retreat to the bathroom, then impulsively stood up.

“I think I’ll use the restroom as well,” he announced, although the girls barely seemed to hear him. He followed the same path that Oliver had taken to the back of the restaurant. He had no idea what he wanted to say to Oliver, but he felt the urge to speak to him privately. He wished that they had come to dinner just the two of them, then immediately felt disloyal to Hannah for having that thought.

There was only one men’s bathroom, so Elio waited outside the door for Oliver to come out. A few minutes later, Elio heard the toilet flush and water running, then Oliver stepped out into the hallway. He saw Elio and gave a surprised smile.

“It’s all yours, Elio.”

“Wait, Oliver.” Oliver stopped and turned towards Elio, a puzzled look on his face. Elio still had no idea what he was going to say.

“Yes?”

“So… you and Rebecca dated before?” Elio prayed that Oliver would not think he was being too nosy. He was so confused about Oliver now, just as he had been in Italy.

Oliver gave a small nod. “Rebecca and I were _engaged_.”

Elio’s eyes widened in shock. “To be married?”

Oliver chuckled. “To be married.”

Elio leaned back against the wall. He had so many questions, and he had no idea which of them were appropriate to ask. “What happened?”

Oliver took a deep breath, as if preparing himself. He held it for a moment, then let it out in one long exhale. “I decided to be honest with myself, and with everyone else. I… I’m gay, Elio.”

Elio’s entire world was abruptly thrown off kilter by that one sentence. Part of him wanted to run from Oliver, terrified by the feelings Oliver’s words stirred in him. And the other part of Elio wanted to grab Oliver and embrace him. Hold him, and bury his face in his chest and never let go.

Elio blinked a few times, speechless. Eventually he opened his mouth and was still unable to say anything other than, “Oh…”

It felt like everything was about to change.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback to the summer of 1983, then working its way to 1986, all from Oliver's perspective. There are a few callbacks to CMBYN in this chapter, but with a bit of a difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I have written (I think?)--almost 5K words! Enjoy!
> 
> Thank you to @hendricksplease for her priceless Beta-reading skills. And thank you to all my readers who have stuck with this fic!

**_Summer 1983, Somewhere in Northern Italy_ **

Oliver’s trip to Italy could not have come at a better time for him, for several reasons. First of all, he had moved home for a few weeks after the semester was over to save money for his trip, and he and his father were constantly butting heads. His father was perpetually stressed over his job, his children, his house—basically his entire life--and yelling at Oliver over imagined transgressions was his favorite way of de-stressing. Oliver and Rebecca had broken up for the summer due to their distance from each other (she would be vacationing in California all summer and he in Crema), and they both felt that a break would do them good. Rebecca was often his biggest advocate when it came to his father, so he was missing that support, as well. He had outgrown most of his high school friends--many of them had never left their small town and were now married and starting to have children. It was very difficult for Oliver to relate to them.

Last, and possibly the scariest, were the close calls Oliver had with men he had met at work the first few weeks of summer. He was tending bar for a catering company in the next city over. The distance from his home and his break-up with Rebecca made him feel safe to indulge in a few hook-ups. That is, until Oliver found out that one of them knew Oliver’s childhood best friend, and another knew his younger sister. Oliver prayed that news of these slip-ups never reached his family, who would harshly disapprove of Oliver having relations with other men.

So Oliver packed his bags and boarded the plane to Milan, swearing an oath to himself to work hard for Professor Perlman, soak up lots of Italian culture, and keep to himself. He would make the most of the six weeks and not become distracted by any Italian men, no matter how handsome or interesting they were.

What Oliver hadn’t counted on was the French/Italian/American boy who would be sleeping in the very next bedroom. A polyglot teenager with a brilliant mind, a gift for music, a snarky mouth, and the most beautiful face Oliver had ever seen. Staying away from Elio would have proven challenging no matter what, but Oliver felt a sexual tension between them that made the task even more difficult.

But he did it. He stayed away for hours at a time--playing poker, sitting in the garden, wandering the streets of Crema, falling in love with Italy—all to avoid Elio. He had to, because on the few occasions they actually spent time together, things would _happen_. Like Oliver unthinkingly giving Elio a massage only to have Elio run away in a panic. Those few touches stayed etched on Oliver’s palm for the rest of the day. Or when Oliver walked in on Elio, very obviously in the middle of masturbating. It took every ounce of Oliver’s willpower not to sink to his knees and beg Elio to let him suck him off.

But he was stronger than he gave himself credit for. He turned and left Elio on his bed, wondering if Elio would finish the job once he was gone. Wanting to lock himself in his own bedroom and imagine Elio pleasuring himself, and then doing the exact same thing to his own body.

It was enough to drive him mad, and he had no idea how he would last an entire summer living in such close proximity to the boy. It was going to be the ultimate test of his willpower.

In the end, it was a worry that Oliver never had to face. The very next morning, Oliver was woken by Samuel just as the sun was starting to rise. He had received a call in the middle of the night from Oliver’s mother, telling him that Oliver’s father had suffered a major heart attack and was in the ICU with a tenuous hold on life. Annella had called the airport to buy Oliver a ticket back to the States while Samuel helped him pack. In the short week that Oliver had known them, Annella and Samuel had shown him more love and support than his own parents ever had.

Oliver got ready to leave Italy in a daze, barely registering when Elio appeared in the doorway to see what was happening in his old bedroom. It wasn’t until he was in the car with Samuel, driving to the airport, that he gave Elio much thought. A slight pang of regret shot through his heart that he hadn’t said a real goodbye. But then his head pulled him back to thoughts of his father, and Elio was once again forgotten.

His mother picked up Oliver at the airport and took him directly to the hospital. His father’s condition hadn’t improved and there was worry that he may not last the night. Oliver entered the ICU alone while his mother went to search for a payphone to call his sister. It was a terrifying place, with a handful of very sick-looking patients hooked up to wires and tanks and drips. Monitors beeped from every bed, and the smell of cleaning solution permeated the air. The nurse took Oliver to his father, who was pale and drawn and barely recognizable as the formidable man Oliver thought him to be. The reality of the situation hit Oliver hard, as he realized that his father may actually die.

A central line had been inserted in his father’s arm, and wires attached to various monitors were hooked to his chest. He appeared to be sleeping—or perhaps unconscious—but after a moment, he opened his eyes and looked directly at Oliver.

“Father,” Oliver said, stepping closer to his bed. “I came home from Italy as soon as I heard. You… you’re going to recover. I know it.”

His father blinked twice and for a moment, Oliver thought that perhaps he was unable to speak. But then his lips parted and he spoke in a low, raspy voice that Oliver strained to hear.

“Oliver… ”

“Yes. I’m here, father.”

“Oliver…. When I’m gone… I need you to take care of your mother and sister. You need to do what is right.” Oliver’s father paused to catch his breath.

“Father, you are going to get better. Don’t talk as if you’re not.”

“I am… not well, Oliver. And I am only getting worse. Please… Rebecca loves you. Do the right thing and marry her. There has been… talk about you. Think of our family. Think of your mother….”

Oliver’s blood ran cold at the mention of “talk” about him. He didn’t want to hear any more. He nodded and took his father’s hand in his own, squeezing it lightly.

He sat quietly for a moment, gathering his courage to say the thing that was rarely said in the Weiss family.

“I… I love you, father.” The words felt like sand in his mouth. He hadn’t told his father that he loved him since he was a small child.

His father looked up at Oliver one last time, but did not respond to Oliver’s words. Oliver’s heart sank as his father’s eyes closed again. He was done with the conversation.

Oliver finally went home to his parents’ house with his mother. His younger sister was there, the person in his family that he was closest to. He gave her a long hug, and then climbed the stairs and fell into his childhood bed. He felt as if he had been jetlagged for the last year.

When he woke several hours later, he heard female voices coming from downstairs: his mother, his sister and another voice. He sat up to listen and realized who it was—Rebecca was in his home.

Rebecca was supposed to be in California. _Why was her voice coming from his kitchen_? Oliver wondered.

Oliver dragged himself downstairs, still feeling the last vestiges of fatigue from his jetlag. And there she was, hugging his mother, rubbing her back, looking something like an angel. _Rebecca._

His mother looked up from her embrace with Rebecca. Her eyes were red; her face looked wretched.

“He’s gone, Oliver. Your father is gone.”

*****

Oliver told Rebecca to return to California to finish her summer vacation, but when Rebecca refused and insisted on staying to help out, he had to admit that her presence was a godsend. She was organized and efficient, and she helped Oliver’s mother with a countless number of tasks. She called the funeral home and synagogue, she helped to arrange the burial, and she prepared the house for the family to sit in _Shiva._ She assisted Oliver’s mother in contacting Weiss family members, Oliver’s father’s business associates, and family friends. She cooked meals and gave rides. And more than anything else, she was emotional support—for the entire family, but especially for Oliver.

Within days, she and Oliver had fallen into the intimate habits of a relationship again. He stayed at her apartment in the next town over for the summer, and they began to have sex again. She hung out with Oliver and his friends, and he with hers. Summer ended and the new semester at Columbia began. They rented an apartment near campus together, and their relationship was the most serious it had ever been.

Oliver’s heart was filled with such gratitude to her that he eventually decided that his father was right--he needed to do the respectable thing. He bought a ring and over dinner one night that winter, Oliver got down on one knee and proposed to Rebecca.

She hesitated for only a moment. “I love you, Oliver, but I want you to do this because this is what you _want_. Not because you feel like this is what you are _supposed_ to do.”

Oliver ignored the sharp pain her words sent into his heart. “This is what I want. I love you, Rebecca.”

And that sentiment was true. He _did_ love Rebecca. He loved her company. They had interesting conversations and she could always make him laugh. And isn’t that what marriage was? A friendship, more than anything else? He didn’t need to be _in_ love or to feel sexual attraction, if he had love and friendship. This was what Oliver had convinced himself of.

Rebecca looked down at the ring again, then back up at Oliver. A smile spread across her face. “Yes. Yes! I love you, Oliver. Of course I will marry you.”

As Oliver pushed the ring onto Rebecca’s finger, a feeling like a prison door clanging shut came over him. He shook it off and kissed his new fiancé on her cheek.

*****

Their relationship resumed as it had before Oliver proposed, seemingly unaffected for many months by their status of newly engaged. However, as winter drew to a close and the arrival of spring warmed the air, Rebecca began to drop the topic of the wedding into their conversations with increasing frequency. Oliver would change the subject or tell her they would talk about it later. Her subtle hints eventually turned to complaints as she grew impatient with Oliver’s obvious attempts at brushing her off. The conflict came to a head one night in their living room as they watched Miami Vice, when she demanded that Oliver pick a wedding date and he refused. 

All of the grievances Rebecca had against Oliver that she had held her tongue about since they had moved in together erupted out her of mouth at once: his tendency to stay late at school without letting her know beforehand. His weekend poker games that he didn’t returned home from until the sun was starting to rise. His habit of leaving the room (or the apartment) whenever they had the slightest disagreement or the topic of the wedding was brought up. And most of all, their sparse—almost nonexistent—sex life. 

Rebecca methodically recounted each of these complaints, one-by-one and in great detail, before ending her 20-minute diatribe by pleading with Oliver, “Do you even want to marry me? Because if you don’t, please, _please_ let me know now, Oliver.”

Oliver opened his mouth to reassure Rebecca that he _did_ still want to get married, he just wasn’t ready to pick a date, when he realized: he couldn’t pick a date because he couldn’t imagine going through with the wedding. He tried to picture himself in a tux, in front of his family and friends, pledging his eternal love to Rebecca and he… couldn’t. He knew at that moment that it would never happen.

He blinked away the tears that had formed in his eyes. He had no right to them; _he_ wasn’t the one who was about to get hurt. He couldn’t look at Rebecca as he said softly, deep shame and remorse evident in his voice, “I’m so sorry.”

He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it away sharply. They sat in silence for several moments, Oliver waiting for Rebecca to respond. Finally she looked up at him, a devastated expression on her face. “Is there someone else?”

Oliver quickly shook his head. “No, of course not.”

She paused. “Is there some _thing_ else?”

Oliver’s stomach dropped, unsure what Rebecca was inferring. “What do you mean?”

Rebecca pressed her lips together. “Don’t make me say it, Oliver.”

Oliver looked away, not replying. That was all the answer that Rebecca needed.

****

Oliver moved out soon after, and they spread the word among their friends and family that their engagement was off. Oliver’s mother was disappointed, but she took it much better than Oliver expected. After her initial period of mourning following his father’s death, she seemed to have come into her own, taking yoga and a ceramics class. When Oliver told her that the wedding was cancelled, she pulled him into a loving embrace, assuring him that he would find the right person eventually.

Rebecca and Oliver stayed away from each other for several weeks, each thinking that that was what was supposed to happen after a broken engagement. But then eventually Rebecca called Oliver, confessing that she missed his friendship, and they began a pattern of meeting for dinner or drinks at least once a week. They would talk for hours, about every possible topic, and eventually Oliver told Rebecca what she had already guessed: that he was gay. She grabbed him into a hug so tight that he couldn’t breathe, and promised him that she would love and support him no matter what.

Rebecca began to date, and eventually grew serious with one of her suitors, Joshua. She met Oliver for dinner one night to tell him that they were starting to be exclusive.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

Oliver gave her an affectionate smile. “Why would I mind, Becs? I want you to be happy.”

She took his hands from across the restaurant table. “What about you, Oliver? When are you going to find someone?”

Oliver was unable to hide a smirk from appearing on his lips. “I have lots of someones.”

“I know. But that’s not love. And you deserve love, Oliver.”

Oliver shrugged with indifference. “When I find the right person, I’ll know.”

His mind flitted briefly to Elio Perlman rather than any of the faceless men that he brought home to his apartment. Oliver would sometimes think of Elio at odd, unexpected times, but he never dwelled on the boy, who lived thousands of miles away. He shook off the thought, as he always did.

“It will happen for me eventually. Please stop worrying.”

Rebecca’s relationship with Joshua grew more serious, and then it fell apart. Oliver was there to catch her, and help put her back together. They resumed their weekly dinner dates, and often met for coffee or lunch in-between classes at Columbia, as well. Their friends joked that they should have gotten married, for all the time they spent together. Oliver was grateful for her friendship.

*****

It was after one of these dinner dates in the spring of 1986 that everything changed. When that face that appeared so often in his mind was suddenly in front of him--older, but unmistakingly Elio Perlman. He was even more beautiful than Oliver remembered. He left the restaurant clutching his driver’s license, stunned into silence.

“Oliver, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Rebecca walked over to Oliver with a concerned expression.

Oliver looked down at his driver’s license and nodded. “I kind of just did.”

Rebecca pulled his coat sleeve. “Come on, I feel like this is a story I need to hear over a cocktail. Let’s go to Simzy’s for a nightcap.”

Once they had their drinks in front of them and were settled into a booth near the back of the bar, Oliver confessed his attraction that summer in Italy to the forbidden teenage son of his host. Rebecca had heard most of Oliver’s stories, but this was one that he had kept to himself. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ashamed of his feelings for Elio, or because they just felt too private. But now that he had seen him again… and he was no longer a boy… Oliver was bursting to finally rid himself of his secret.

Rebecca listened to the entire thing, spellbound. When he was done, she shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve got nothing to lose. Ask him out.”

Oliver quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. He has a girlfriend. I’m _sure_ he is straight.”

Rebecca smirked. “The way everyone thought you were… engaged to your live-in fiancé? Looks can be deceiving, Oliver.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me hope, Rebecca. I don’t need any misdirected optimism in my life.”

They finished their drinks, paid the bill and headed out. Oliver assumed the topic of Elio was over, as much as he wanted to see him again. What were the chances that he would run into the boy again in a city of fifteen million people?

****

The chances (as Oliver would find out the very next day) were actually 100%. He and Rebecca stopped at one of their favorite neighborhood spots for coffee before their afternoon classes. It was crowded, as always, but Rebecca spotted a small table for two that was vacant near the back. Oliver led the way and as they got close, the man at the next table turned to the front of the restaurant, as if he were looking for someone. Oliver’s heart stopped… it was Elio.

He was so shocked, he almost dropped his coffee. For a brief moment, he considered turning away—he didn’t want to bother the boy—but his curiosity and happiness at seeing him again overrode any hesitation he had.

He introduced Elio to Rebecca, and when Elio wasn’t looking, she gave Oliver an open-mouth look that clearly said, ‘ _Holy shit, this is him, I can’t believe it!_ ’ Oliver threw a quick glare her way and turned back to Elio. They chatted for an entirely too-brief amount of time before Elio glanced at his watch and announced that he had to get to his next class. Oliver’s heart sank. They had barely talked at all, and Oliver still had so many questions for him. He ignored the part of his brain that longed to look into the speckled green of Elio’s eyes, or count the freckles on his nose. No, he _just_ wanted to hear more about how Professor Perlman was doing.

As Elio turned to go, Oliver impulsively called out to him. “Elio, wait.”

Elio turned and Oliver couldn’t read the expression on his face. Annoyed? Eager? Indifferent? “May I get your phone number? I would love to catch up with you when you have more time.”

Elio gave a hesitant smile, and Oliver hoped that he didn’t feel pressured into giving his number. He tore out a piece of notebook paper and jotted it down.

“Here you go. Maybe Hannah and I can meet you and Rebecca for dinner one night?”

Oliver opened his mouth to say, no, I meant just you and me, but then he thought that perhaps Elio felt more comfortable having his girlfriend there. Oliver closed his mouth and said nothing, trying to hide his disappointment. _He isn’t gay and he isn’t single. Get over it, Oliver._

Oliver finally found his voice. “Sure, yeah. That sounds great. I’ll give you a call and we’ll set it up. Bye, Elio.”

*****

As soon as Elio was out of earshot, Rebecca turned to Oliver, her mouth gaping open with shock. “Holy shit, Oliver. He is the most adorable thing ever. And you say he speaks Italian, too? Oh my _god_.”

Oliver nodded. “He does. And French. And he plays the piano.”

Rebecca shook her head with a laugh. “And those curls! I think he’s out of your league.”

Oliver swatted her arm, highly insulted. “He is only out of my league because he is taken. And straight.”

Rebecca shrugged one shoulder and made a “Mmm-hmm” sound. Oliver knew from experience that she made that noise when she disagreed with Oliver but didn’t want to argue. But Oliver wasn’t going to let her off that easily.

“What? Are you saying that he’s not straight?”

“You said he has a girlfriend, and I respect that. But I can read body language, and one thing I can see _for sure_ is that boy is attracted to you. The look on his face when he first saw you? And the way kept touching his hair during our conversation? Someone was making him nervous, and it wasn’t me.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, but he was secretly pleased. He took a bite of his muffin and thought about Elio’s number, currently folded in his pocket.

“Are you available tomorrow night? I’m thinking of calling him tonight to see if he wants to have dinner.”

Rebecca grinned. “For you? Of course, Oliver. And I will be watching his body language like a hawk.”

*****

Oliver vacillated on what to wear to dinner, wanting to look nice but not like he was trying too hard. He settled on his favorite jeans--the pair that Rebecca said he looked so good in--a black button-up shirt, boots, and a leather jacket. He looked himself up and down, pleased, and had to remind himself that this wasn’t a date. He didn’t have anyone he needed to impress. But still… Oliver turned to look at his ass in the mirror. He was happy with his choice.

The restaurant was quite a ways from Oliver and Rebecca’s neighborhood (they still lived just a few blocks from each other near the university), so they met at Oliver’s place and grabbed a taxi to the restaurant. Oliver made sure they got there early to put their names in. He didn’t want their group to have to wait for too long for a table.

It was a mild night, and they waited outside for Elio and Hannah to arrive. Oliver’s nerves were growing, but he was an expert at hiding his true feelings. Despite his outwardly calm appearance, Rebecca seemed to pick up on his anxiety and rubbed his arm to reassure him.

“No reason to be nervous, Oliver,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not nervous,” he answered, a bit peeved that she had picked up on it, despite all his efforts to hide.

Just then, Oliver spotted Elio and Hannah coming up the sidewalk, holding hands and looking every bit the happy couple. Oliver’s stomach dropped a bit, but he quickly shook off any negative feelings he was having and raised a hand to say hello. Hannah looked different than she had at the restaurant. Her hair was down and she had on make-up. Oliver had to admit that she was a very pretty girl. They made a good-looking couple. They looked… _right_ together.

Elio and Hannah walked over to where they were standing, and Elio and Oliver’s eyes met for the briefest moment, but it was enough to send a shiver down Oliver’s spine.

_Get ahold of yourself,_ he thought sternly. Introductions were made and the four of them chatted while they waited.

Hannah turned to Oliver. “Oliver, Elio tells me that you worked with his father?”

Oliver nodded. “Well, I was his intern for about half a second three summers ago. But he made a huge impression on me that summer. As did Elio.”

Elio looked up sharply at those words, and Oliver wished that he could grab them and stuff them back into his mouth. Why did he say that? Why did he choose that moment to be honest?

Luckily, just then the hostess came out to let them know their table was ready. Oliver breathed a sigh of relief as he followed her into the restaurant.

They settled into the table and Oliver ordered a bottle of wine. Once she was gone, Rebecca made a joke about the waitress flirting. Oliver ignored her; Rebecca always seemed to think that salesgirls and waitresses were interested in him, but he never saw it. He usually just rolled his eyes and changed the topic.

But this time, Hannah interjected. “That doesn’t bother you? When waitresses flirt with him?” she asked curiously.

Oliver glanced at Rebecca. He already knew what Elio thought—that he and Rebecca were a couple—and he figured that at some point over dinner he would correct that assumption. He gave Rebecca a quick shrug, as if to say _go ahead and tell her._ There was no point in waiting.

Rebecca smiled at Hannah. “We aren’t… _together_. So, no. It doesn’t bother me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Elio react, his eyes widening and then quickly pivoting between Oliver and Rebecca.

Hannah tried to apologize, so Oliver stepped in, letting her know that her assumption was reasonable. “No, no. It’s my fault. I should have realized what we looked like to Elio, seeing us together twice. And we _did_ used to be a couple. So it’s easy to see how the assumption was made.”

The atmosphere around them had grown awkward, and Oliver regretted not setting the record straight with Elio sooner. Luckily, just then the waitress returned with the wine, so Oliver led them all in a toast to try to ease the tension. Fortunately, it seemed to work. Afterwards the girls began to chat as if they were old friends, and Elio seemed content to listen in on to their conversation. Oliver took that moment as a chance to soak in Elio. He had a view of his profile from his seat, and he was struck by how Elio’s jaw seemed sharper, his cheekbones more pronounced. His lips were maybe even softer…

Just then, Elio looked up, as if he had felt Oliver’s eyes on him. Oliver quickly glanced down, mortified at having been caught staring. He picked up his menu and tried to engage Elio in meaningless small talk. Meanwhile, his heart was pounding out of his chest.

The waitress came to take their order and Oliver excused himself to use the restroom. He was having a difficult time controlling his words and emotions around Elio, and he needed a minute to compose himself. He had been attracted to 17-year old Elio in Italy, but this… this was something else. It felt like more somehow.

Once in the restroom, Oliver relieved himself then splashed water on his face. He dried off with a paper towel and looked into the mirror.

_Pull yourself together. He isn’t yours to have_ , he reminded his reflection.

He stepped out of the bathroom, surprised to find Elio standing in the hallway, looking sheepish. Oliver wanted to stay with him, to talk to him, but he feigned casualness.

“It’s all yours, Elio,” he said, turning to go. He hoped that Elio would say something--that he would somehow stop him from leaving.

“Wait, Oliver.”

Oliver’s heart skipped. He turned back to Elio, who looked so nervous that Oliver had to smile. _Maybe there is something to what Rebecca said_ , he thought.

And then Elio asked about Oliver and Rebecca, and Oliver knew she was right. He could feel it. Girlfriend or not, there was something between them.

Oliver gave a completely honest answer, telling Elio that they had been engaged.

“To be married?” Elio asked with wide eyes.

Oliver had to chuckle. Elio looked so adorable, it was all Oliver could do not to reach out and caress his cheek or touch his hair.

“To be married,” he answered with an amused nod.

Elio leaned back against the wall, and Oliver could tell that his mind was working a million miles a minute. He braced himself for the next inevitable question. Was he ready to be come clean with Elio? How would he react?

“What happened?” Elio asked. And there it was. Oliver took a deep breath, readying himself. He was going to tell him. _He wanted Elio to know_.

“I decided to be honest with myself, and with everyone else. I… I’m gay, Elio.”

Elio blinked a few times, not answering, and for a moment Oliver wondered if he hadn’t heard him. But eventually Elio opened his mouth to respond, a small “Oh…” barely leaving his lips.

Oliver waited for him to say more. When nothing more was forthcoming, Oliver realized that he must have shocked or disgusted Elio with what he told him. He turned to go, his entire body heavy with regret. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Oliver returned to their table, furious at himself for ruining their dinner with his ridiculous confession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you have read, or have any thoughts at all about this chapter, please leave a comment!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of their double-date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slow-burn. Hope everyone is patient. Thank you to all my readers for your continued support!
> 
> Thank you to @hendricksplease for being my speedy beta reader, and thank you to @peachyperfect for the gorgeous visual you can see on my Instagram, Tumblr or the fan fic Facebook group!

** Chapter Six **

Elio stared at Oliver, stunned at his confession. Oliver... was _gay_? A million thoughts and memories flooded into Elio’s brain, and before he could respond, Oliver was apologizing and hurrying away. Elio watched him leave, trying to gather himself together enough to say something. A weak “Oliver, wait,” came out of his mouth, more of a whisper than anything. It didn’t matter anyway. Oliver was already out of sight.

Elio stood, frozen against the wall, trying to make sense of what Oliver had just confessed. Oliver, who had dated so many girls in Italy, who had been engaged to the beautiful Rebecca--was actually gay. Elio could accept that. He didn’t judge Oliver at all. What _was_ puzzling to Elio--more than the secret Oliver told him--was how it made Elio feel: scared, excited, confused… all rolled into one overwhelming emotion.

“Excuse me, are you waiting for the bathroom?” An elderly gentleman’s voice jolted Elio out of his deep contemplation. He nodded quickly at the man, hurrying into the bathroom to relieve himself. He washed his hands, then stared at his reflection, as Oliver had done only minutes before. He still felt blindsided by Oliver’s words and he tried to figure out why. He wasn’t homophobic. At least he didn’t _think_ he was. His parents had lots of gay friends, and Elio had never been bothered by them when they visited the house. Except…

A memory from the summer that Oliver had visited appeared in Elio's mind. Weeks after he was gone, his parents’ friends Isaac and Mounir, a gay couple, came to visit. Elio knew them well and had never felt awkward around them. But for some reason, that summer Elio had watched them more carefully than he had in the past. Stealing glances from behind his wine glass as they gave each other pecks on their lips, wondering what their life was like behind closed doors. After they left that night, Elio shook off the strange interest he had taken in them, dismissing it as normal curiosity. He hadn’t thought of them again since that night, but that memory now seemed important somehow.

The man waiting outside the restroom knocked on the door, and Elio realized that he had been staring at his reflection for several minutes. He straightened, and his stomach did an abrupt flip at the thought of returning to the table and facing Oliver. He was nervous, but it was time. The others were definitely wondering where he was by now.

When Elio got back to the table, their food had already arrived and the other three were eating.

“We waited a few minutes to eat for you, but you took so long,” Hannah said with a hint of rebuke in her words. She lowered her voice. “What were you _doing_?”

“I’m so sorry. I’m glad you all started eating,” Elio said to the table as he sat down. He glanced over at Oliver who seemed to be intensely interested in the food on his plate. Elio’s heart sank. He had hurt Oliver with his unfortunate response, and he had no idea how to fix it. He picked up a fork and poked at his fried chicken a few times. He had lost his appetite.

The girls picked up a conversation about movies that Elio’s arrival must have interrupted. He nibbled at his food, looking over at Oliver several more times as he ate. Every time, his stomach would flutter and he could hear Oliver’s deep voice repeating the words, “I’m gay, Elio,” over and over in his mind. Elio fervently wished they were alone so he could talk to Oliver, to tell him that he didn’t judge him, and that he didn’t care if he was gay. But Oliver wouldn’t even lift his head.

Rebecca suddenly noticed that the men were both strangely quiet. She asked Elio a few questions about his classes, and tried to pull Oliver into the conversation. Elio answered politely, but Oliver remained stubbornly aloof. 

When the waitress came to take their plates and ask if they were interested in dessert, Oliver finally spoke. “No, thank you. Just the check.”

Rebecca looked at him sharply, but Oliver refused to meet her eye. Elio wanted to say something to make things right, but he just couldn’t think of the proper words, especially in front of Hannah and Rebecca. He watched sadly as Oliver paid the bill and pushed away from the table. This was not how Elio wanted the night to end.

Hannah and Rebecca headed to the stairs, chatting; Rebecca threw one last concerned glance over her shoulder at Elio and Oliver. Oliver was sliding his wallet into his back pocket and Elio realized that this was probably his last chance to talk to him.

Oliver turned to leave and noticed Elio still standing by the staircase. His face flushed, as if he hadn’t expected to see him there.

“Ready to go, Elio?” he asked brusquely, not meeting his eye.

“Oliver, wait. About earlier, I didn’t mean to… I should have….”

“Elio, don’t worry about it. Come on, the girls are waiting.” Oliver started walking again, leaving Elio with no choice but to follow.

*****

Back on the street, the girls gave each other tight goodbye hugs, as if they were lifelong friends. Hannah shook Oliver’s hand, and Rebecca pulled Elio into an unexpected embrace. Finally, Oliver turned to Elio to say goodbye.

“It was really good to see you again, Elio. Please tell your parents hello for me,” he said stiffly.

“They would really love to hear from you, Oliver.” An idea flashed into Elio’s mind. “Why don’t you give me your phone number so I can pass it along to them?”

Oliver looked at Elio for the first time since his confession. Elio attempted a smile, to let him know that he had no ill-intentions. After a long moment, Oliver shrugged and pulled out his wallet.

“That’s a great idea, Elio.” He pulled a business card out of his wallet and borrowed a pen from Rebecca. “Here. My office phone number is on the front and I added my home phone number on the back. I would love to have a chat with him.”

Oliver gave Elio a somewhat sincere smile, and then he and Rebecca headed down the sidewalk in the direction of the subway. When they were several yards away, he thought he heard Rebecca say to Oliver, “What got into you at dinner?” but he never heard Oliver’s reply.

Elio sighed in relief that the stressful night was over. He watched Rebecca and Oliver for another minute, hanging onto a ridiculous hope that perhaps Oliver would turn one last time, but he never did. Soon they were out of sight.

“So, what should we do now? It’s still pretty early. Do you want to come over for a while?” Elio had almost forgotten that Hannah was standing with him.

“No, I think I’m going to head home.” The words were out of his mouth before the thought was even fully formed in Elio’s head. He needed to be alone, to process the night and what Oliver had told him. He really just wanted to be by himself with his thoughts of Oliver, and the desire for that was so strong, he didn’t even feel guilty for once again rejecting Hannah.

She looked put-out for a moment, but then shrugged. “I knew this was going to happen. Michele and Kristin are at Hennessey’s. I’m going to meet them there.” She zipped up her jacket and ran her hand through her curly hair. “Call me when you want to see me, Elio. Later.”

Hannah’s _Later_ gave Elio a sudden sense of déjà vu—a certain man, a certain summer. He stayed with Hannah until she was in her taxi, and then he headed home to think about that man some more.

*****

As soon as Elio got home, he opened a cold bottle of beer, then went to his closet and pulled out Billowy. He had put it as far back in his closet as he could reach after his last rendezvous with Oliver’s shirt, a bit embarrassed at his behavior, and the garment was quite wrinkled from being pressed against the wall. Elio didn’t care. He pulled off the shirt he had on, slipped into Billowy, then settled on the couch with his beer to think.

He wondered what Oliver was doing at that moment. Did he and Rebecca go out for another drink? Did he have someone else to meet up with? It occurred to Elio that even though Rebecca clarified that _they_ weren’t dating, she never actually said that Oliver was single. What if he had a… boyfriend?

The word sent a shiver down Elio’s spine. He thought it again: _boyfriend._ He took a few more large swigs of beer and found himself wondering what it would be like to be someone’s boyfriend. Specifically, what it would be like to be _Oliver’s_ boyfriend. He wanted to be shocked at himself for having these thoughts, but all he felt was a heavy heart at the possibility of Oliver already being taken.

He knew then that it was true: the crush he had had on Oliver three years ago was back and stronger than ever. And also: Elio wasn’t as straight as he pretended to be. He pulled Billowy tight around his chest leaned back, and sighed. The worst part of it all was how Oliver had trusted in Elio tonight, and Elio had basically rejected him. He would be lucky if Oliver ever spoke to him again.

Elio lifted his hip and slid Oliver’s card out of his back pocket. He looked at the neat lettering on the front: _Oliver Weiss, Ph.D_. He ran his finger over Oliver’s typed name, then flipped over the card. Oliver had written _Oliver 212-478-2929_ in the most beautiful script Elio had ever seen. He turned the card over and over in his hand while he considered his next move. The last bit of wine in his blood made him brave, and he stood up and walked to the kitchen where his phone was. Before he could change his mind, he lifted the phone and dialed Oliver’s number.

Oliver answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

Elio paused, almost hanging up. “Hi. Oliver.”

Silence, then, “Elio?”

_How does he know my voice?_ Elio wondered. “Hi, sorry. Yes, it’s Elio. I was just calling, um… to apologize. I…”

“I was actually thinking of calling _you_ to apologize,” Oliver said, cutting him off.

“ _What_? Why? You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I… I shouldn’t have burdened you with that information earlier. We don’t know each other well. I’m not even sure why I told you.” Elio heard him sigh through the phone line.

“No, Oliver! I’m glad you told me. It just took me aback. I feel terrible that I made you feel like I was judging you or something. I have no problem with it. _Really_.”

“Thanks, Elio. But still… I shouldn’t have laid that on you.”

There was silence on the line while Elio thought of what he wanted to say to Oliver. What he _really_ wanted to say.

“Maybe you and I could go for a drink to talk more sometime?” He surprised himself with the request.

“Yeah, sure. I’d like that.” Oliver paused. “Are you free… tomorrow night?”

Elio had the urge to blurt out _YES_ , but then his heart sank as he remembered that he had to waiter the next night. _Fucking Mario’s_.

“I have to work tomorrow night. Unless… you can meet after? But it would have to be after 11.”

“Actually, I could do that. I have some work I could finish up and then we could meet for a drink. Wherever you want.”

Elio’s heart lifted. He hadn’t realized until that moment how badly he wanted to talk with Oliver alone. “That sounds great, Oliver.”

They made plans, and Elio hung up the phone feeling on top of the world. The countdown to seeing Oliver again began.

*****

The next 24 hours dragged for Elio. He spent most of the morning doing school work, and then practicing the piano at the local music store that rented rehearsal rooms by the hour. He came home in time to shower, change for work, and gobble down a piece of cold pizza at his counter. He glanced at his watch while he ate--it was 4:30pm. He would hopefully be with Oliver in less than seven hours.

After another disastrous shift at the restaurant that miraculously didn’t result in Elio getting fired, Elio went to the kitchen to clock out. It was a typically busy Saturday night at Mario’s and he had barely spoken to Hannah his entire shift, but he knew it was inevitable that she would want to hang out now that they were off. Elio wondered how many more times he could put off spending time with her before she finally had enough. He felt a pang of guilt and vowed to make plans with her for the next day.

She was coming into the kitchen as he was leaving, but she didn’t say a word to him. He stopped in the doorway.

“Hey, I’ll call you tomorrow, Hannah?”

She looked up as if she hadn’t even noticed he was there. “Sure. Whatever. See you later, Elio.”

She turned to the time clock without another glance at Elio. He stood in the doorway, a bit confused, then let it close behind him. He was relieved that she hadn’t hassled him, and he decided not to think too deeply about it.

Elio stopped in the restroom to change out of his work shirt into something clean and ran his fingers through his curls, trying in vain to tame them. He popped a mint into his mouth, took a deep breath, and set out to meet Oliver.

*****

Oliver was already seated at the bar when Elio came through the heavy wooden front door of the dive bar. He was chatting with the bartender like an old friend, and Elio took a second to just watch. Oliver had a huge, unguarded grin on his face, his eyes wrinkling with amusement. Elio had a flash of jealousy towards the bartender for getting Oliver to smile that way, and he wondered if perhaps they were flirting. He had a sudden urge to turn and leave, but then Oliver looked up and saw him. His smile grew even wider.

“Elio! Over here!” He gestured for Elio to come sit next to him, and all of Elio’s reservations blew away like a balloon on a windy afternoon. He returned Oliver’s smile and walked over to the bar.

“John, get my friend Elio here whatever he wants,” Oliver said expansively. It was obvious that he has already had a drink or two. He turned to Elio. “We’ve been trading bartender war stories,” he told Elio as he climbed onto the bar stool.

“I’ll have a rum and coke,” Elio told bartender… John, apparently. He turned back to Oliver. “I didn’t know you were a bartender?”

Oliver took a long swig of his drink then signaled to John to bring him another. “I was. All through college. That’s how I made my money, bartending and poker.”

John set down Elio’s drink with a friendly smile. “I bet you made good tips, Oliver. The ladies must have loved you,” he teased with a wink.

Oliver flushed at his remark, but he couldn’t hide a smirk. “I did okay. But I don’t miss those days. The service industry is a grind. Well, I don’t have to tell _you_ , Elio. Right?”

Elio nodded, relieved that they were having an easy conversation, the awkwardness from the night before forgotten. His nerves from earlier were quickly dissolving. “It’s the _worst_. And I am a terrible waiter. I’m counting the days until I can quit Mario’s and hang up my apron.”

John set down Oliver’s drink. “Can I get you boys anything else?”

Oliver shook his head no and turned back to Elio, giving him his full attention. “When will that be? Soon?”

Elio nodded. “Hopefully. I’m thinking of looking for work as a piano accompanist. You know, for local playhouses or children’s singing recitals. That sort of thing.”

A hint of wistfulness appeared on Oliver’s face, as if he were recalling a pleasant memory. “I used to love to listen to you play piano,” he confided with a small smile.

Elio set down his drink, shocked. “You did? I never knew you were ever listening.”

Oliver chuckled. “I was. And I would love to hear you play again one day.” He touched Elio’s sleeve briefly, causing Elio’s heart rate to speed up like a race horse. “Hey, why don’t we grab a table in the back? We can talk a little more privately.”

They picked up their drink and Elio followed Oliver to the back of the dim bar, where there were few customers. The settled into their seats and Oliver took out a pack of cigarettes, offering one to Elio.

“I’m trying to quit, but…” he ended with a shrug.

“Me, too,” Elio answered with a grin, taking one. Oliver produced a lighter and Elio bent over the table so Oliver could light his cigarette. It was an act that felt intimate and natural. It made Elio want to get up and sit next to Oliver, rather than across the table from him. But he stayed put, ignoring the impulse.

Oliver took a deep inhale of his cigarette, blowing it out in one giant gust. “So, about last night, I shouldn’t have…”

“Oliver, stop.” Elio looked into Oliver’s eyes, a serous expression on his face. “I’m glad you told me. That you trusted me. I don’t think differently about you at all.”

Oliver shrugged, looking over Elio’s shoulder to the rest of the bar. “Still, it wasn’t the time or place. I don’t know why I decided to tell you then.”

“How many other people know? Does your family know?” Elio hoped that he wasn’t over stepping his bounds.

“My sister does, but my mother doesn’t. I do plan on telling her though. Soon, I think. My close friends know and a few work colleagues. I don’t advertise it, but I also don’t hide it.”

Elio suddenly had to know. “How did people take it? Did you lose any friends?”

Oliver tapped his cigarette into the ashtray and regarded Elio carefully, as if trying to figure out Elio’s motives for these questions. “A few… but no one worth mourning. My true friends have supported me. And that’s that way it is, Elio. You find out which people are worth keeping in your life.”

Elio suddenly felt transparent, as if Oliver could see every thought, every revelation he had had in the last 24 hours. He felt too exposed and decided to change the subject.

“So how is your new book coming along?”

The men chatted for the next hour about safe topics: school, work, Elio’s parents. Elio ordered another drink, and then another, and his tongue began to loosen up.

“What do you remember most about your summer with us?” It was an impulsive question, but he wanted to know.

Oliver face softened at the query. He sighed and Elio sensed that his mind had wandered elsewhere. He looked down at the table, and when he looked up at Elio, his smile was like the sun.

“Everything, Elio. All of it.”

“I was such an annoying shit that summer,” Elio added, a little embarrassed. But it was the truth.

Oliver nodded. “You could be at times. That’s true. But you were also….” Oliver paused, as if he were about to say too much.

“I was _what_? You can’t just say that and stop, Oliver!”

“Should we order another round of drinks? I think I need another.”

“Oliver! Come on! I won’t be mad, I promise,” Elio pleaded. He put his hand on Oliver’s sleeve, suddenly desperate to hear what Oliver was about to say.

Oliver looked down at Elio’s hand, then up into his beseeching eyes. He took a deep breath and shrugged, as if he were giving in. “You were interesting to me. Probably _too_ interesting. Maybe it was good that I left.”

Elio pulled his hand away, confused. Turning Oliver’s words over in his mind, examining them. 

The waitress appeared then, letting them know that it was last call. Oliver ordered one last round of drinks, then stood up. “I’m going to use the restroom,” he said, then hurried off, leaving Elio to figure out the meaning of what he said.

_Maybe it was good that I left._

If Oliver found Elio interesting… does that mean that he was interested _in_ Elio? Was that even _possible_? And did his past feeling have any impact on Oliver’s current feelings towards him?

Oliver returned to the table just as the waitress was setting down their last round of drinks.

“Cheers, Elio. I’m glad we did this.” Elio clinked his glass with Oliver, wondering if they had moved on from the previous topic of conversation.

“Oliver?” Elio’s heart began to pound. But he had to say something. The words were bursting out of his chest.

“Yes?”

“I found you interesting, too. That summer.”

Oliver set down his drink, his eyebrows furrowed. “You did? I felt like you saw me as an annoyance. You seemed perpetually mad at me.”

“You confused me.” Elio lay his head down on the table. The alcohol was hitting him hard and he felt quite drunk. He was saying things that he was going to regret in the morning.

Oliver chuckled. Elio looked up sharply, his head still on the table. Was Oliver laughing at him? “You confused me, too, Elio,” he replied softly.

The waitress dropped off the bill and Oliver pulled out his wallet. “No, it’s my turn to pay,” Elio slurred, lifting his head slightly.

Oliver shook him off. “You’re a broke college student. I don’t mind picking up a few tabs.” He smiled. “You can get the next one.”

Elio sat up straight at that. “There’s going to be a next one? When?”

Oliver laughed and stood up. “I don’t know. Soon? Maybe we can meet for lunch next week.”

He put out his hand and helped the now-very inebriated Elio out of his chair. Elio grasped onto Oliver’s arm, using his drunkenness as an excuse to touch Oliver. “I’d like that. I like you, Oliver. I like hanging out with you.”

“I like hanging out with you, too, Elio. Now come on, let’s get you into a cab.”

Oliver helped Elio into his cab. Luckily Elio was still coherent enough to give the driver directions. As the taxi set off in the direction of his apartment, Elio realized that he hadn’t thought of Hannah once the entire night. And, he realized, he didn’t feel like thinking about her at that moment, either. He leaned his head back against the car seat and just thought about Oliver.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this fic, or have any thoughts at all, please leave a comment!


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